By the time the men were waking the toddlers, changing diapers, and attempting potty training—a task that left my kitchen significantly emptier—it was already well past 4 PM. I had already prepared most of my sauces. Damon, number one, had made both béarnaise and hollandaise. Lepard and Charles were now working on spicier sauces. Mariella was chopping fruits and vegetables to add crispness to the tacos, while Wulfe was separating meat from bones, as my ducks and other meats were already cooked.
I, on the other hand, was making baby food. Currently, it was lamb. I had simmered the lamb in a thick, creamy broth in the oven and was now separating it into appropriately sized pieces, pouring the sauce into a separate bowl. Numbers ten and nine were in the back, still chopping my smoked meats and selecting the cuts we'd use.
Damon had been everywhere, and I constantly had to nudge him in the right direction. He was overwhelmed by the amount of work, but his analytical mind was beginning to enjoy the process, and he was starting to give orders. No, not while this was my domain. He could certainly order everyone around when he was the one making the food, but not now.
I was quite good at making sure he didn't bother me too much. Since he had never truly been a part of our kitchen chaos, this was all new to him, and it was taking him time to understand everything. I hadn't even looked at what he had planned for himself for next week or the weekend.
Tomorrow was baby day, and Sunday I would focus on work. This meant I had a long list of orders to complete, as well as other paperwork, like ordering more plants and cuttings and planning my finances. Consequently, I would be spending most of my time in my study, my office, undisturbed.
Number one would surely learn this, too. I thought that Charles and Adam had committed to food preparation for the weekend, but I might be wrong; I wasn't certain, as I hadn't looked into it closely. However, I was planning to make more snack boxes for myself in the evening before cleaning the kitchen and putting everything away.
Having a fridge in my study allowed me to stock up for Sunday, and I also had a coffee maker there. With "baby day" approaching tomorrow, I had planned to create a little exercise routine for them, envisioning a special gym room with mattresses, small trampolines, and other equipment, all inspired by the ideas in a book I'd only briefly reviewed.
I hadn't read it fully, but it gave me pointers on activities for toddlers. I might read the book tonight, as I wasn't too tired, unlike the men who would likely be exhausted after a busy day, and the girls, who might want some male attention. My plan was to watch movies, read, eat treats, and relax, but life can sometimes bring unexpected turns.
The lamb was almost ready, cooked through but needing to be finished just before dinner to keep it warm and juicy. I was preparing the next course: small fish in a large bowl. I intended to sous vide them after gently seasoning and grinding them. Their small bones would be a beneficial addition for the babies, providing nutrients like phosphorus and calcium.
Then, Mariella and several of the Salvatores entered the kitchen. Numbers five, six, and seven immediately headed for the fridge, grabbing fruits and treats to assemble a snack for the babies.
One of them noticed my snack boxes, opened them, and asked, "Baby, what are these? There are over ten of them!"
I replied, still chopping fish from an icy block, "They're my snack boxes. I made them for myself."
Number one, alerted by the commotion, walked over and examined the boxes, then began rearranging things.
He said, "Thanks, Baby, the toddlers will definitely like these. However, they aren't calorie-dense or nutrient-dense enough for you. I'll give these to the girls, and they can prepare the toddlers' snacks now."
I took a breath, not thrilled, but I could adjust. I had plenty of food and other dishes to use for snacks if I wanted.
I had just finished assembling the fish pieces in the bowl when Number One's soft voice startled me from behind. "Hmm, fish, several species. Interesting. And pray tell, my wife, what is the purpose of this?"
I rolled my eyes and replied, "For the babies. I season, grind, and sous vide them into fish sticks or patties. It's new meat. Today's tasting day. I have about 400 kilos of those blocks in the freezer – trash fish from trawlers or fish they don't use but get ensnared. They're usually too small for commercial use and end up in pet food or zoos, but I got them for us."
He then said, "Okay, move over. I'll take over from here. Number Four has been tasting the babies' bloods, meaning I'll get an update on my radar soon, and I can make this suitable for them. By the way, baby, I'll plate for the toddlers then. You can give me the meats; I'll approve or season them more and then make individual plates based on each toddler's needs."
Again, I rolled my eyes, and he calmly continued, "Listen to me, will you? See, I am the main protector, meaning my radar encompasses most of us, including the other Salvatores. However, I'm not going to dictate everything. I'm here for you to use if you need me. And for the babies, did you know that if you season Sadie's food with a bit more dill, she gets about 12 percent more iron? Or if you put some marjoram on Amber's meat, she can have up to 40 percent more calories? It's a finely tuned system, and I'm just optimizing their needs, not taking over the whole system. And for you, I'll plate for you too, my love, so you can orient that as well."
Fine. Time to amp this up. If he wanted to be part of the babies' lives, let's test this, shall we?
I asked, "What have you logged for tomorrow? I have baby care day, and I was planning to make a gym for them. As you've noticed, they have energy, and the physical therapist from the hospital actually gave me a few books on how to help them, as they lost mass during that illness. So, there are plays and games I was planning. Could you make it easier with your spell? Wulfe is for meat chopping, and some of the Salvatores are woodworking and chopping wood, so, wanna help?"
He responded, "Yeah, I can help, but you need to give those books to me, or actually Number Five and Mariella, so we have the knowledge too."
As Lepard inquired in the kitchen, "Mimi, my love, when is the babies' aftercare medical appointment?"
I hadn't had a chance to respond yet.
I replied, "Next week, it's the week after that, on Tuesday. It's in the calendar, but I can take them myself; there's no need for you to bother."
Damon's voice, deceptively soft, spoke in my ear, "And what is this? As you recall, I am your medical guardian and the babies' father, yet I have no idea what you're referring to."
Adam added from nearby, "The doctor and his team will fly from Chicago to Roseau to give the babies a check-up and ensure Mimi has recovered as well. It's Tuesday, at one of the private medical centers in Roseau. I happen to be working then, and I have a driving gig, as did Charles, but we were trying to make sure someone would be with her."
Damon said again, softly, "Oh, I will be there, as well as a few Salvatores, maybe even Mariella too. We need to connect with this doctor and get the medical done."
I rolled my eyes.
Damon then said lazily to me, "Did you know, Mimi, what I did about those bills of yours? Well, as it was my fault that the germ got into our house, it was also the hospital's fault. So, I sent a claim to the hospital demanding compensation, as their lack of hygiene and correct sterilization procedures turned me into a vector, almost killing my babies. It might be that my hospital has insurance for things like this, takes care of the bill, and pays you back what you've already paid, so don't worry."
Frankly, I was surprised, but then again, it was as much to do with Damon's pride as the actual harm to the babies.
Charles, having finished his sauce, came to inspect my meats.
He sampled some of the cleaned lamb, and, after tasting it, asked, "Do you have more? This is perfect for Mariella."
I nodded and replied, "I do. As chops, or a whole leg? I was planning to thinly slice it later."
Damon, number three, chimed in, "I'll take care of the lambs. Are they done?"
I nodded and pointed to the left, where the lamb chops and leg of lamb rested under aluminum foil.
"I was planning on making a melted butter and cream sauce for it, at least for the babies, as it might be a bit dry," I explained.
He simply hummed and went to work.
One of my timers beeped. Oh, my horse and elk were done. Fine, I'd handle them next. I went to the large oven, opened it, and reached for the oven mitts.
I was about to pull out the meats when number five appeared and said, "Let me, my love. No need for you to burn yourself."
I rolled my eyes and said, "Those two on the left — the horse and elk- are done. The bison still needs a bit more time."
He nodded and, with practiced energy, used the oven mitts to remove the meats. The kitchen filled with the aroma of aromatic herbs as the meats were placed on a counter. I covered them with kitchen towels to keep them moist and warm while I finished them. So much still to do.
It was almost amusing to watch Damon, overwhelmed by the situation, his need to dominate me clashing with the task of making baby food. This was family life, and it might take him a moment to understand how it worked. I moved to the stove again, this time planning to make a velouté from our stock, having already added some lamb bones.
I grabbed one of my favorite large pots and walked to the broth, planning to take some from the reserved portion. I would need to make my roux first and then add our broth, seasoning it as needed.
As I set my pot on the table, Number One turned, furrowed his brow, and said something to Charles, who simply shrugged. Damon then walked over, lifted my pot, and opened the cabinet. He chose a different one, replacing mine with a newer one on the highest shelf, out of my reach
. I bit my lip, resisting the urge to ask why, though I was curious. What was wrong with my pot this time? This was one of *our* little things in the kitchen. He was pedantic, believing everything should be top-notch, safe, and perfect, while I was content with what worked. I wasn't constantly seeking the best possible version of everything.
Damon asked, "What are you planning? Sauce, right? We have quite a few already."
I replied, "I'll make a velouté, using our stock. I have bison in the oven, as well as elk and horse – dry meats that need moisture. And please, no need to upgrade my kitchenware."
Damon sighed, his voice patient and educational. "Your pot had imperfections; the slick Teflon was worn in places, meaning it might chip into the food. I don't want Teflon in my system. Things need to be replaced from time to time, and they need to be checked too. I have energy gaze, and my magic tells me clearly if the metal is damaged."
I rolled my eyes; whatever. I let it go and focused on getting dinner done.
Damon then asked, "What do you have for the babies with caffeine?"
I gestured to Adam, who went to the fridge and retrieved a batch of cupcakes. Adam gave one to Damon, who ate it thoughtfully, then handed them to Number Eight, who was also in the kitchen. Number Eight then moved to the stove, took a smaller saucepan, and began making a thin coffee-chocolate sauce while Number Nine pierced the cupcakes with a fork, preparing for the sauce to seep in.
Focusing on the velouté, I walked to the fridge for unsalted butter and flour. While I listed the next steps in my mind, I realized I needed to boil eggs for the egg sauce. Additionally, there would be chopped duck eggs as a filling, and the various meats – sealion, shrimp (reserved for the babies), pork, Wagyu, Highland cattle, and fish – needed to be sliced.
I had plenty of options, but balance was key; I needed to offer new tastes while still including familiar ones to ensure they ate enough. It wasn't the time to let them refuse food, as they were still recovering, and the doctor had warned that their immune systems could falter if their recovery regressed.
I didn't want to appear overly worried, so I instructed Damon to offer certain meats. However, he also needed to learn to ensure they ate, even if it meant going against his protector instincts, as toddlers were known to be fussy eaters. I also planned to prepare a few purees as an alternative, and I would offer several types of sauces separately, contingent on Damon's choices. If he approved, I could add my selections.
It wasn't about who had the final say; the babies' well-being was the priority. I hoped he shared the same principle. But since he hadn't interacted with me in a while, and given the new influences in his life, I wasn't sure what his feeding strategy would be.
As dinnertime approached, I had a multitude of tasks to complete before we could sit down. This flurry of activity, however, invigorated me. Juggling so many things simultaneously and making it all work, felt perfect.
Mariella, having finished chopping the necessary ingredients, asked, "Can you show me what we need? I can start assembling the trays."
I nodded, pausing to remove my butter from the heat. Of course, no matter what I did or if someone addressed me, Damon was listening and watching. I walked over to our plating cabinet, where a stack of trays of various sizes sat neatly on the counter.
I selected the larger ones. The taco shells, in their stands, were nearby. I opened the cabinet above and pulled down the compartment containing forks, knives, and spoons. Inside, there were plates in five sizes, cups and glasses in three sizes, and coffee mugs.
I instructed Mariella as I worked, "So, taco stand, a bigger plate for the meat, medium sauce cups – three of them – a carb plate, a small bowl for fillings or salads with meat, a glass, a mug, and a spoon, fork, and knife, so everyone can decide how to eat, and a good stack of napkins."
I assembled the first tray for Mariella, and she nodded in understanding.
Damon approached us and asked, "What's going on?"
Mariella explained, "We're assembling trays in advance. See? We stack them so one is just visible, and each of us can grab a ready tray as we start to compile our food, saving time."
Damon grunted and said, "Fine, except, baby, this is left-handed, and most of us are right-handed. Move over, honey, I can put these together."
Mariella rolled her eyes as Damon began to meticulously arrange the trays, analyzing the optimal placement for each item – a habit of his that was, at times, overly pedantic. I went back to continue cooking and prepping, assigning Mariella the task of boiling the eggs and then slicing them.
Managing my entire "pack," as I thought of it, was quite an experience. I considered myself a pretty good pack leader, although I kept the idea buried deep, not wanting to rile up the Salvatores or Wulfe. He, too, was eager to assert his dominance, particularly in the bedroom, if he sensed the wrong kind of ideas in my mind, not that it was a bad thing, but I wasn't in the mood for being a sex beast just yet.